Chapter 5
Heat. Sizzling somewhere at the edges of Jean's consciousness. Distantly he could hear the fires voice. Wicked and cackling, as it devoured. Feeding off whatever it had taken hold of, whatever poor innate object had succumbed to it's ravenous hunger. Dimly, he could smell the choking black smoke, taste the acrid fallout from the blaze. As his mind floated from beneath it's blanket of inky blackness, he became far more aware of his surroundings. Noting firstly, the intense heat from the fire of which he could now tell, he was too close to for comfort or safety sake. Secondly, as Jean tried to move away from the searing flames, he became acutely aware...of the pain. It shot through him, like a lightening rod of agony, forking out to every blessed corner of his being, every last nerve ending. Thirdly, once he came more into his thoughts, he noted the difficulty he had in taking in air to fully fill his lungs. Oh yes, he knew what that pain signified. He'd been in enough brawls to be sure he had at least two cracked ribs. With each attempt to suck in air, to inflate his lungs, the action was met with shocking pain that radiated from his chest to his sides and then around to his back. It made the action of moving, more problematic too. Even the slightest move, even so much as a twitch, had him groaning in pain. He was going to be feeling this for some weeks yet, he thought dully. His vision was still somewhat hazy, as he squinted open his eyes, to get a better grasp of his bearings.
And as they cleared, he saw it.
"Shit." Jean's one word comment didn't come close to how he truly felt, but through the pain he had to accept and move on.
His car. His beat up, dark green Camero...had died a fiery death.
What was left, could barely be recognised as a car, let alone a specific make or model. The scared and charged skeleton, still being eaten away by raging flames of vibrant yellows, reds and deep ambers. The tires gone, but for the rims melting under the intense heat. The rubber of the tires having popped and melted long before he awoke to the scene. The paint, though it had been flaking and pot-marked with rust patches, could not be seen any longer, the dark grey metal chassis stood stark against the distant lights of the city across the river. The sky was still star speckled over head, but the blooming of day was encroaching on the far side of that city scape, that shimmered in the darkened river waters. The fire was much too bright here. There was so little lighting, it was the only source of illumination that Jean could make out. It made everything around it, seem ghostly and demonic. From what he could make out, he was in some sort of old boatyard or river port. There were some sagging outbuildings at the edges of the light, one very large half fallen barn like building, that was weathered and looked defeated. There were the bones of old boats, like something you might see in the dark depths of the ocean, when searching for and finding a long lost wreck. Hauntingly silent and barren.
It took some effort, it sure as hell took some guts, but Jean got to his knees and crawled his way further from the flames that threatened to grill him alive. He made it around fifteen feet away from the wreckage, before the need to stop and rest took over. Leaning back, holding his right side with his left hand, Jean watched as he panted short sharp breaths, as the flames licked high into the night sky. With a bit of a struggle, he dug out his pack of smokes and his lighter. Opening the pack, Jean groaned in dismay. Empty. A split second before he crushed it and tossed it aside, his eyes caught the small folded piece of napkin tucked into the space, where at least – to his recollection anyways – seven cigarettes should have been waiting, nestled in the half squashed cardboard pack. With some effort, Jean tugged the napkin out of the pack, allowing the empty box to fall into his lap, as he unfolded the piece of flimsy paper. There, on the top corner, was the logo for the club. Greed's club. And scrawled in rough handwriting across the blank white area, was a message...no, Jean thought...not a message, but a warning.
NEXT TIME YOU'LL BURN.
With a grunt of sorts, Jean stuffed the napkin in his pocket. Well, he thought, if they think torching his car and beating him up was going to stop him from pursuing this and getting to the bottom of the case, they were in for one hell of a shock. Jean Havoc, did not give up so easily. Sure he was prone to getting into work late, pissing his boss off, letting his paperwork pile up on his desk and generally take things lazily. But when it came to snuffing out a lead and following it, he was doggedly determined to finish whatever he started. It was natural, to his way of thinking, to hate paperwork. His own boss loathed it. So he was following the great example, for lack of a better excuse that is. But this latest development, was certainly going to make him that much harder to shake off. Distantly he could hear the familiar sirens of the fire department and felt glad, that someone had called it in. Since he didn't think for one minute he would have the strength to walk away from this. Not right yet that is. He needed to rest and he needed to be patched up. Then he would have to deal with the unenviable task, of being ripped to shreds by his boss. Mustang was going to blast his ass for this one.
Trying to focus now on taking breaths, while reducing the pain factor, Jean watched the darkness to his left. He didn't let his eyes slip closed to concentrate more, till he could see the flashing lights of the approaching emergency services. He could tell from the lights, there were two fire trucks, two ambulances and at least three cop cars, making a bee line to his location. Here come the cavalry, he thought with a half smirk. Within moments, the wreck of his car was being dowsed in water. He was being fussed over by two paramedics and one of the cops was talking on his squad car radio, relaying what was going on and the fact they had found Jean half conscious, beat to hell and back, but lucid. It hurt to be moved, to be shuffled about. To have his neck wrapped with the thick foam neck brace and body rolled so the backboard could be slipped under it. It felt to him just a little bit humiliating to have to be strapped down to the stretcher, but he knew, it was procedure. It was a painful ride across the uneven ground, to the back of the waiting ambulance. It's wide doors opened ready to accept the stretcher. But as they slipped it in, Jean had to screw his eyes shut, to block out the too bright fluorescent light affixed to the ceiling. They secured the wheels, placed a blanket over him and strapped a heart monitor to him, via sticky electrodes placed on his chest and finally the plastic gas mask, to allow him extra oxygen.
"Just try and relax Detective Havoc, we'll be at Our Lady of Hope in a short while." One of the paramedics, a young man of no more than twenty five Jean estimated, smiled reassuringly.
"Take your time." Jean replied, his voice muffled by the mask, though the raspy quality could still be made out "I'm in no rush to be poked and prodded more."
"Well, better just deal pal, seeing as your going to be poked and prodded a lot more when you get there." The young man chuckled, drawing a half smirk from Jean, as the ambulance bounced it's way to the main road.
"Hey, long as it's a pretty lady Doc doing the poking, I think I can take it." Jean said, winking at the young man and drawing a laugh from the older paramedic who sat at the foot of the stretcher.
"Now that, I can agree with buddy. Ain't worth getting treated like a damn pin cushion, if the pin pusher ain't one hot piece of ass with a mile of leg. Am I right?" The man, at least forty and clearly a lover of his donuts or fried meals, as he carried a spare tyre about his waist.
"Preaching to the masses, pal." Jean said, chuckled and then winced with the pain it brought on "I for one, like them smart, sexy and strong willed."
Both men looked at him like he was crazy, which just brought on a face splitting grin. They looked at Jean, then to each other, then back to him blinking.
"Hey, I like a challenge, what can I say?" Jean said, amusement ringing true in his voice, as he did his best not to laugh at their reactions.
Doing his best to relax during the ride, Jean shut his eyes and breathed shallow, smelling the hint of crisp cleanness of the oxygen and finding his mouth going dry from the very same. He could hear the scratchy sound of the dispatchers voice over the radio, the reply from the driver and the periodic comments as to his condition, by the two men in the back with him. His mind drifted, glancing over the events that he recalled, however few they were after he had spied on Greed and Olivier. He couldn't even say for sure what the guy who socked him one had looked like. That would have been a start at least. But, as was his luck, it had happened with such speed he had not gotten a good look at him. It was going to make it tough, to prove it had been one of Greed's henchmen who had slugged him and brought him to where he woke up. And whom had called it in? He doubted there was a phone booth in the vicinity of the old boatyard. So, if it wasn't some concerned citizen, it had to have been one of the afore mentioned henchmen. There was no other explanation in Jean's mind. But, proof was in the eye of the beholder. And he didn't have a whole lot of that, at that moment in time. But it would only be a matter of time, before he had some. Before he could take down Greed and stop whatever chaos he and Olivier could concoct. The city sure didn't need more trouble. It was already rife with pushers, pimps and thieves.
But the feeling in his gut, that cop instinct that never failed him, was screaming like a school fire alarm...that things were already on the path to getting a whole lot worse.
000
It wasn't unheard of, in the least, for Vato Falman to be up and around at day break. Neither was it unusual that he was already working, following up with the coroner at the morgue. He wanted to get the preliminary report on the wound pattern and to confirm cause of death. It would only bother and nag at him if he had to wait for Jean to show up. He knew better than most, just what Jean was like and how he was prone to being late for work most days – well damn near everyday in fact – however Vato had been unable to get a hold of his partner that morning. A half dozen calls to his home had gone unanswered. Usually it took but one call to get the "I'm sleeping buzz off" response, from a groggy sounding Jean. Shaking his head he continued through the halls toward Autopsy. Vato had learned early on after joining the department, that you couldn't change Jean Havoc no matter how much you tried to. The man could be lazy, blinkered to things that didn't peak his interest and an incorrigible skirt chaser. With a smile only friendship could have forged, Vato shrugged off the fact that he was currently working this Homicide solo. It just meant he would have gained ground, cutting the time it took to solve it. Or at the very least he hoped for that outcome. He took the stairs swiftly, heading down to the lowest levels of the building. There was but one thing he hated more than being around dead bodies...
...Dealing with Dr Knox.
That man, could be an insufferable jerk at the best of times and a down right rude jack ass at the worst of times. But, he was a damned fine coroner. Grouchy, yes. Opinionated, certainly. Thorough, without doubt. And that, is what made him the best ME in the city. Down at sub-basement level 3 the air was chilled. It needed to be to delay the onset of decomposition and prevent the growth of unwanted bacteria on the evidence. There were three storage rooms, holding around twenty bodies total when at full capacity. Beyond those, was the large open Autopsy room behind the double swinging doors. It held four stainless steel tables, each with steel headrests and drainage holes along the edges, for washing away blood and other biological matter when cleaning the corpses. There were stainless steel trays, covered with carefully laid out tools – Scalpels, Saws, tweezers, Right Angled Ruler and the like – all the items necessary to cut open and examine the human body. The smell in that room could turn a rookie greener than the grass of the Emerald Isle. It had almost done so to Vato, in his early days. But now he was well used to it. That odd combination of bleach, death and decay, with a hint of something else that he chose not to enquire about. Pushing the left half of the double doors open, Vato strolled into Autopsy and was met by the sight of a dead female, with her intestines and other assorted organs in bowls and her chest cavity wide open.
It was the one thing, Vato still couldn't get used to.
Death he could handle. Dead bodies he could handle...but...seeing what was once a living, breathing human being cut open like the prize catch on a fishing excursion, was not a sight one got used to. Not even the seasoned cops did.
It was, after all, human nature to fear death.
"I see you left that pain in the ass chain smoker at home today Detective." Dr Knox's voice was rough and just a bit on the testy side, his head never once looking up, as he sliced skilfully at the body on his table "A good thing too, I'm trying to quit. Would only piss me off if he was around blowing the scent in my face."
"Gave up again huh?" Vato replied, taking a stance on the other side of the table, keeping his gaze on Knox's head, rather than the corpse between them "Well good luck with that. It's what...the fourth or fifth time you've tried now?"
"Sixth, if you must know." Knox grouched, as he dug a hand into the body and pulled out her heart "Hmm, good and healthy, not so much as nick." he muttered almost to himself.
"Have you had a chance to have a look at the DB that was brought in last night?" Vato asked, breathing through his mouth to minimize the smell.
"Yeah I did." Looking up then, Knox fixed a glare at the Detective "You think I got nothing better to do than spend my time with dead people? I got a life ya know."
"We all have a life outside of the work Dr Knox, we just have to do our duty whenever the need arises." Vato smiled, trying to relax the moody coroner.
The effort failed.
"Duty! Pah! You wanna know 'bout duty?" Knox growled, waving a very sharp unknown implement at Vato "Duty, is going off to war and getting you head messed with, as you try to stay alive, to get back to those you love! Duty, is when a man takes care of his wife and family! Duty, is not being called away from dinner to carve up an already carved up nerd!"
"You got called away from dinner? Well you could have just warmed it up after you know." Helpful suggestions, was how Vato thought to resolve this unexpected reaction from the Doctor.
"Warmed it up? You numskull! I was at a damned restaurant having dinner with my wife!" He bellowed "We decided to give things another try, go out some, see how we got on. See if there was a way to salvage what was left."
"Oh...my apologies Doctor. I wasn't aware of..."
"Of course you weren't! Dumb ass! I don't share every damned detail of my private life..as..it's..Private!" With a frustrated huff, Knox wiped his forehead on his lab coat sleeve.
With a shift of his feet and a clearing of his throat, Vato Falman tried not to say anything, lest he anger Dr Knox again. But the coroner was now setting aside his current task and tool, marching over to his desk while yanking off his gloves. Tossing the gloves into a yellow waste bin, like the kind you would see in a hospital ER room, he snatched something off his desk and made his way back. Upon his return, he shoved a manilla folder into the Detectives hands. It was relatively thin, but Vato knew it would be detailed and thorough. But the fact it was thin meant there wouldn't be too much to go on. The body wasn't giving much up.
"There's my report. Pretty cut and dried." Knox said, digging into his pocket for a pack of gum, unwrapping two sticks and folding them into his mouth "Who ever sliced him up, knew what they were doing. Was clean. Very professional and in my opinion, the crook was left handed. That slice cut the main Carotid Artery. Effectively cutting off his ability to shout for help, while causing him to bleed out rapidly."
"I see." Vato flipped through the first couple pages, scanning the clean and concise information "Well, this certainly gives us more than we had. Thanks Doctor Knox, I'll uh...leave you to your work."
"Yeah, yeah...go on get outta my hair already..." Knox grumbled, pulling on fresh gloves and going back to the female on his table, muttering "...damned pain in the ass cops, crawling up my ass every damn minute of the day..."
Leaving the coroner to his work, Vato smiled to himself at how annoyed Knox was at being called upon at all hours of the day and night. But that was part and parcel of the job, even the beat cops and the Captains weren't exempt from it. That was their lives. What they chose to do. Serve and protect, the public at large. Vato made his way down the hall to the stairs once more and jogged up them, heading for the level above. The labs. He could tell from his cursory scan of the file Knox had given him, that samples and blood work had been sent upstairs. So he knew his next port of call had to be with the lab monkey's. They were a spirited bunch, often making Vato laugh or shake his head at their antics. But they worked well together and produced quick results. Which was handy, in this line of work. The faster they identified evidence, the faster a case was solved. That was why this precinct, was the top ranking one in the city. They had the best of the best here, working toward the greater good.
As he reached sub-basement level 2, Vato rounded the corner and pushed open the single door, before entering the first room on the right. The long white corridor stretched to the fire escape at the far end. Inside the room was cluttered with specimens in various stages of growth. There was a large Oak picture frame with a certificate stating the bearer was a qualified Doctor. There was a rather large snail fossil being used as a paper weight and dozens of books, on every conceivable subject matter. The man Vato sought, was half hidden behind a stack of books with papers randomly sticking out here and there. Doctor Marcoh, was known for his patience and his steady voice. He could command his team of scientists and never have to shout. He was a well respected man, his jet black hair peppered at the sideburns with grey strands. It made him look all the more distinguished. And he was currently focused very hard on something.
"Doctor Marcoh? I was hoping your team had some results for me, regarding the evidence from the DB brought in last night." Vato spoke as he navigated the mine field that was Marcoh's office, to get closer to the desk.
"Hm?" Looking up, Marcoh's dirt brown eyes showed rings of red "Oh good morning Detective Falman. Yes, yes I believe we are waiting on the results of the unknown particles found in the wound track. Toxicology has come up with nothing."
"Well, our inquiries turned up nothing to indicate the victim was a drug user or that he was poisoned." Vato replied, flipping through the file he carried "Doctor Knox was his usual pleasant self this morning. You mentioned some unknown trace? How long will it take to analyse it and ID it?"
"Haha, yes old Knox can be a terrible grouch in the mornings." Rounding the fully laden desk, Marcoh headed from his office, with Vato in tow "That's correct. Knox discovered it when he was performing the autopsy. He sent a sample up to us and Edward has been working to identify it ever since."
"I see, so you don't hold out any hope that an answer will be forthcoming any time soon then?" Vato asked, as he fell into step beside Marcoh "Was there anything else sent up for analysis?"
"We shall find out from Edward how the tests are going. Yes, the clothing the victim was wearing has been thoroughly checked. Nothing but a few dirt particles from the parking area and more of the unknown element Knox found." Marcoh turned into a room half way down the hall on his left.
Walking in with the doctor, Vato was met with all manner of test tubes, pipes, beakers full of colored fluids and Bunsen burners with their blue flames heating not just fluids, but the room as well. The scent in the air was of chemicals, lots of them. There were bags, labelled and signed, with their tape carefully slit open. The evidence within them lay out on the long desk against the right wall. With incandescent table lamps shining on them. Vato knew not to touch a thing. That was procedure. On the left wall, was a floor to ceiling shelving rack full of labelled bottles. No doubt the chemicals he smelled. Squeezed into a corner on the back wall was a cluttered desk. It rivalled Marcoh's towering papers and books. Somewhere behind the mass of tubes and beakers, was a figure in a lab coat. Marcoh walked over, greeting the young man. His hair a mass of auric silk, restrained in a ponytail, with bangs to frame strong facial features. His height was easily over five feet six, his body long and lean.
"Edward. How far along with the substance identification are you?" Marcoh asked, as Vato stopped to stare at the array of utensils "Detective Falman is asking after the results."
"I've been working on it all damn morning Doc." The testy voice seemed to almost growl, it was clear that the lab technician had had a rough morning "I've eliminated just about everything I can think of. So, I took a chance with the last of the sample and ran a test for the more unusual compounds."
"You used the entire sample?" Vato chimed in, stunned panic plastered on his face "What happens if this test is also a failure? We won't have anything left to test for ID."
"Hey! You wanna do my job?" Edward jabbed a finger in Vato's direction, a sneer creasing his face "If you can think of every known substance to mankind AND match IT to any damned sample that comes in...then be my guest pal!"
"Edward please." Defusing this was paramount, lest the officer bring charges of insubordination against the young man "Detective, it's our jobs to identify trace here and very often that means using then entirety of the samples we are given..."
"I'm aware of the need to test for confirmation Doctor, I just wasn't aware that you routinely worked each sample to death." He couldn't understand their way of thinking or the way they conducted tests in the department "I just wonder if we will indeed ID it at all now."
"We will, I don't have idiots on my staff." A little miffed now, Marcoh's attitude turned to the defensive "All of my team are the best in their relevant fields. Now Edward, when do you expect this test to garner results?"
"Haaa..." Lifting his left hand, Edward scratched at the side of his head, messing up his bang so it stuck up oddly "...well it should be ready any moment now."
"Well that's good." Marcoh seemed happy with the answer "To expedite things, we will wait with you, alright."
"Knock yourselves out." Turning back to his confusing looking apparatus, the young man focused intently on a beaker sat under a pipe "Just don't get in my way, you got it?"
"You mean me, right?" Vato knew, that comment was meant for him for sure, he was after all the only non-scientist there "I won't move from this spot. That suit you?"
"Yeah." One sideways glance and half hearted disgruntled grumble and Edward went back to his task.
The room fell silent. Only bubbling and gurgling sounds filled the small space. It was like all three men were holding their collective breaths, till the result became clear. Edward watched fluids and gasses filter through pipes, adjusted valves and set a fresh beaker underneath one particular pipe. As if in slow motion, liquid dripped from the pipe. The tiny sound of droplets hitting the empty bottom of the glass beaker seemed twice as loud, in the silence of the room. Edward turned a valve to stop the flow, snatched the beaker up and held it to the light. He squinted some, golden orbs focused intently upon the small sample. Turning to Marcoh and Vato, he grinned.
"Got it!" He announced, holding the beaker out for them to look "Nobel 808. Without a doubt. Though why it would be in a wound track I have no idea."
"Nobel 808? What substance is that?" Vato stared at the greenish liquid, it looked like what you might find in an overgrown pond.
"Nobel 808 is also known as Plastique. Or in laymen's terms, Plastic Explosives." Marcoh said, as he took the beaker from Edward to confirm the identification, though he had faith in his staff "It is odd why it was in the wound though."
"Was it only found there?" Vato frowned, as theories began to form in his mind.
"No. Alphonse also found traces of it on the victims clothing." He could see Vato puzzling it out "What are you thinking Detective?"
"Well, to my way of thinking there is only one possible explanation for why it appeared in the wound track." He rubbed a hand under his chin, thoughtfully "Whatever weapon was used to kill the victim had previously been used in the building of a bomb."
The room fell silent once more. Edward and Marcoh just stared at Vato.
"If that is true Detective, then it is crucial to find the perpetrator quickly..." Marcoh said, looking very concerned "...as this explosive is hard to trace."
"Not really..." Edward chimed in "...you could easily get this on the black market, there are dealers who specialize in this type of thing."
Vato and Marcoh simply stared, mouths agape at Edward.
"What?" He asked, shrugging "What did I say?"
"Edward, how do you know this?" Marcoh asked, tentatively.
"I keep my ear to the ground." He said nonchalantly "Plus I got connections here and there."
"Edward, could you tap those connections for information on any recent buyers?" Vato asked, hoping this could be a chance for more leads.
"Yeah I could do that." One shoulder lifted, a gesture that said it was no big deal to do it "What you want to know?"
"Well who has been buying this item, how much they purchased, and names if you can." Vato pulled out his notebook and scribbled it all down, tearing the sheet off and handing it to Edward "And if you can, keep it just between the three of us alright. The less people that know about it the better."
"Gotcha. I'll see what I can dig up on it for you." Edward said, pocketing the slip of paper.
"And remember to be careful Edward." Marcoh added, patting the younger man on the shoulder "I hate to loose one of the best trace techs I've ever had."
"Hey don't sweat it Doc, I'll be fine." Edward grinned, brushing off the warning almost cockily "It's no big deal really."
"Appreciate the extra help Edward." Vato held out his hand, gripping the young mans with a firm shake "Call me when you have anything, alright?"
"You got it Detective." Edward told him, as Vato was heading out of the room.
Leaving the lab behind him, Vato headed up the stairs at a fair clip. Though he didn't look like he worked out, Vato was no couch potato. He could, and often did, outrun other cops on the training grounds. Reaching the main level, he was flipping through the file once more as he passed the main reception desk. He didn't even notice that Riza Hawkeye wasn't at her usual post. But Maria Ross caught his arm as he walked by. Once his face met hers, he realized something was going on. Something very serious.
"Detective Falman, I have a message for you from Captain Mustang." Maria said, biting on her lip.
"What's wrong Maria?" Vato shut the file and gave her his full attention.
"It's Detective Havoc...He was...well the Captain got a call...early this morning...and.." She seemed nervous and very, very worried.
"It's okay, take a deep breath now." Rubbing her arms gently "You said you had a message for me. Did the Captain want to see me?"
"Yes, Oh Vato, I overheard them talking. Jean is in the hospital. They say he was beaten and his car set alight." Maria leaned into Vato a little, as she calmed and steadied some.
"Oh boy, what has he gotten himself into this time?" Vato said under his breath, giving Maria a comforting hug, before letting her go "I'll go see the Captain now, and find out the details. Try not to worry, Jean bounces back from all sorts, he'll be okay."
"I'll try Vato. Will you let me know when you find anything more out?" Maria gripped the top of the high desk "I just hope he's alright."
"I promise to let you know if I find anything new out." With a reassuring smile, he headed off into the Pit, detouring to Mustang's office.
Before reaching the door, he could see his commander on the phone. He looked frustrated. The tone of his voice carrying through the open door, was more evidence to the fact. Riza sat on one of the chairs, taking notes and sorting through papers, answering the second phone any time it rang. That secondary phone was known as the Press Line, for the only people who had the number, were the city papers and news stations. Vato quietly rapped on the door frame, gaining both Riza and Mustang's attentions for a moment. He was beckoned in by his commander. Settling in the spare seat, Vato rested his right ankle on his left knee, and waited.
"...Yes for the hundredth time, I am his commanding officer Captain Roy Mustang ZCPD, badge number 6397, Precinct 83, District 5. Now tell me the status of my officer!" Mustang barked down the phone, rubbing his temple impatiently.
"You'll have to forgive me sir, but we had to verify you before we let out any pertinent information concerning Mr Havoc."The snooty nurse on the line told him "All I know for sure, is that he is conscious but in pain. It is apparent that he has some internal injuries, but he is lucid."
"Well if he is conscious can you put him on the phone? I need a detailed report of what happened." Mustang said, as he turned to Riza and made some hand gesture, to which he received a pad and pen "I plan to come down there to check on him personally, but I need to get an investigation started ASAP on this."
"I am sorry Captain, but Mr Havoc cannot come to the nurses station to use this phone. To make a call he would need to use the public phone in the waiting room." Was the hoity reply, that only fuelled his temper.
"Well why doesn't he do that? For the love of...Are his injuries really that bad?" Mustang pressed on, determined to ascertain the truth.
"Mr Havoc's injuries are such that he required strapping, stitches and bandaging." The nurse recited the information from the patient chart in front of her "At this moment in time, the attending Physician ordered that Mr Havoc was to be given a 4mg shot of Morphine, so he is not able to walk unaided...and is subsequently hitting on my staff, without remorse." her final statement was said with disdain.
"I see, well then I will be there in due time, to glean the required information." Mustang managed to say, just barely holding back the chuckle, though his face cracked a partial smile "Thank you for your assistance, good bye"
Vato was a man well used to concealing his laughter. Though right now, he wasn't amused, so much as puzzled by his commanders expression. Along with the fact, that once the receiver was down, Roy Mustang actually laughed. Even Riza was put out by the move. In a split second it was over. He turned his chair, rubbed his temples and then placed his hands in the typical steeple stance. He look at Riza, then at Vato. Finally he took a deep breath and relayed the information he had gotten on the rather stressful call, to the very testy nurse he had to deal with. His orders were simple. Riza was to pass the case of Havoc's torched car over to Captain Hughes and his teams. Vato, was to continue working the homicide and once Havoc was let out of hospital, he was to debrief him and keep on him to make sure he didn't "Do anything else of major stupidity" again. Vato was to shadow Jean. With his orders given, Roy donned his trench coat and swiftly marched from the precinct to his car. He was going to tear chunks out of Jean for this mess. As soon as he knew the man was A-Okay, he would tear into him. Roy Mustang was not the type to rip apart an idiot who wasn't up to being ripped apart to start with.
Sliding into his car, Roy shoved the key in the ignition, then noticed something on the seat beside him. Glancing over he reached for it. It was a scarf. Feminine, silky soft and as he brought it to his nose to breath in the scent, he groaned softly. He could smell her perfume and her sweet skin upon the floaty material. And with those scents filling his senses, behind closed eyes his mind filled in the visuals. He had lured her to his bed, after a sumptuous dinner. Within the intimacy of his bedroom, they had made love. Slowly, endlessly. Greedily devouring each other. They had fallen asleep, tangled together on his king sized bed. In the early morning light, he had awoken to the phone call that had taken him from her side. Roy had stopped to look upon her, as he placed the handwritten note on the pillow beside her. Rebecca was beautiful. Creamy skin that was smother than the silk of the scarf he now held. Hair as black as ebony, in long luxuriously soft waves. Lips a man could die from kissing. Eyes that could shoot a man down in flames when she saw fit. Roy was sure, he was head over heels for her. It lightened his mood some, just recalling the night before. But as he drove to the hospital, he got mad once more. Thinking of the morning he could have spent with her...
...had Jean not gone and been an idiot. Again.
000
Early morning at the Armstrong mansion, was a far cry from what was happening at Precinct 83. The butler and maid were setting up the lavish breakfast, at the grand table in the dinning room. The table was solid oak, stained with a clear varnish to enhance the natural beauty of the wood grain. The chairs were made the same way, with the cushions clad in soft burgundy velvet. Flower arrangements adorned the center of the table, with place settings out to serve five. Olivier was always first to breakfast. An early riser, unlike her more relaxed family. Her younger brother Alex strolled in, a warm greeting for her. Her only response was to once more tell him what a pathetic excuse for a man he was. Alex was well used to this. Catherine followed shortly there after. Oliver's parents sauntered in lastly. As the food was served. Platters of fruit segments, grapefruit and melon, vine ripened grapes and wholemeal bread toasted to perfection, served with butter curls and small pots of preserves. The mornings papers were brought to the table, and the radio was tuned to the news channel. As Catherine and her mother sat together on one side of the table, nibbling at their food and talking of fashion and the arts, Alex and his father Philip shared the papers. Swapping over from the sports to financial sections as they ate. Olivier sat ram rod straight and listened to the radio, sipping her black coffee.
"...And in other news this morning, police are on the hunt for the perpetrators of a viscous attack on one of their own late last night. Detective Jean Havoc, 28, was found in the early hours of this morning at the old Dock Works on the western edge of the city. His vehicle had been set alight and he was found to be conscious, but suffering internal injuries, the extent of which is unknown at this point in time. ZCPD have asked that anyone with information or any witnesses to this heinous act, to please come forward and contact them, at Precinct 83. And now to the weather report with Trisha..."
Catherine and her mother seemed not to notice the report, however Alex did. One look at his older sister and he realised, she knew something. Olivier thought it very coincidental, that the Detective who had tried pathetically to flirt with her the day before, had somehow found himself in such a situation. She intended to have a talk with Greed about this matter. With breakfast over, each of the Armstrong clan moved off to their own tasks for the day. Olivier was making her way towards the front of the mansion, where her car awaited her. Alex jogged to catch up with her. He had to say something. He knew his father would not. His mother couldn't care less and his baby sister was too sweet and too innocent, to fully grasp what was happening around her. Blocking her path, he fixed his older sister with a stern look. Though with Olivier, that never seemed to work. She could, and did on many occasions, steam roll him on anything. They never, saw eye to eye.
"You are in my way Alex. Move." Olivier sneered, glaring daggers from those icy blues.
"No. Sister, we need to talk." Alex stood his ground "You know something about that Detective. Don't you?"
"I only know that he was the waste of space who is working on the murder that took place yesterday." She stated flatly, then tried to step around Alex.
"That's not entirely true is it?" He continued, blocking her once more "You know more than that. I can see it in those cold eyes."
"I gave you my answer Alex. Now step aside before I knock you aside!" Olivier barked angrily, going toe to toe with him.
"I won't move until you tell me what is going on Olivier." Alex squared off to her, determination in his soft blue eyes.
Though Alex towered over Olivier, by a good foot and a half or more, she never backed down. They were evenly matched when it came down to it. However, Olivier was much more devious than her brother. In the simplest of moves, she stomped on his foot with enough force to break bones. Alex winced, bravely keeping silent as she dug her heel in forcefully. The very second she lifted her foot, Olivier shoved Alex aside roughly and walked purposefully towards the front door. Leaving Alex no choice but to watch her leave. The doorman opened the heavy oak door, allowing her out. She seemed to flow with ease, down the marble steps towards the car. Miles held the door open for her, shutting it once she slipped in. After rounding the car to take his place behind the wheel, Olivier instructed him to make a stop on the way to the office. Quite a detour, but it was necessary. She had to confront Greed about this matter. Actions like that could reflect badly on her business dealings. So she would deal with him, personally.
It took a while to navigate the city streets this early in the morning. But after an hour, Miles pulled the car up behind the Devils Nest. He hated being here again. Hated to remember what Olivier had done the night before, while he sat like a lap dog in the car. With his temper boiling beneath the surface, he did his job and watched the woman he adored walk into the back door. The club was much quieter in the day time. The cleaning crew were working hard. She knew where to go, to find Greed. Not a soul bothered to try and stop her. They feared her. As she reached the room, that only hours before had been the scene of something she would never admit aloud had been amazing, Olivier simply swung the door open. It bounced off the wall with a loud crack. Marching in, Olivier drew her sword and strategically placed the blade, where it would garner the most effect. Right between Greed's thighs, a hairs breadth from his most favourite appendage.
"Hey hey hey!" Greed all but scampered up on his toes "Easy with that thing honey!"
"Shut up you worm!" Her blade rose a little higher "You imbecile! I should carve you up right here!"
"Whoa whoa whoa! Carve me up! What the fuck for!" Greed demanded, trying to avoid the sharp Katana sword that threatened to castrate him.
"What kind of message is being put across when you go around beating up officers!" Her angry gaze fixed on Greeds amethyst orbs "Do you want to draw more attention to us!"
"Look babe, I have no idea what you are talking about." Greed almost felt his entire body freezing over with that icy glare "I heard about it too alright. I can only assume he was some place he shouldn't have been."
"You want me to believe you didn't order him attacked and his car torched?" Olivier sneered and lifted the blade a little higher "Maybe I should just turn you into a Eunuch?"
"Hey whoa! N-no need for such drastic measures babe!" Greed got his ass onto the desk and managed to roll backwards, landing on his feet "Lets talk about this okay? Let me help figure it out."
"I still think you are responsible Greed." The blade moved so fast, a glint in the light, till the point was at his throat "Talk. Explain to me why I should believe it wasn't your doing."
"Look...uh..." He didn't dare swallow, he could knick himself on the blade without meaning to "My bodyguard, Loa, we should ask him, see what he knows."
"Why? Doesn't he take his orders directly from you Greed?" She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Well, that's the thing see..." Greed tried to grin "Sometimes, he does things on my behalf and doesn't inform me...heh...plausible deniability ya know?"
"Your pathetic Greed." Sheathing her sword, Olivier leaned her hands on the desk "Get him in here. NOW!"
"Okay okay..." Greed used the intercom to call Loa into the office "...no need to get those panties in a twist honey, unless you feel like removing them so I can lower your stress levels."
It was the grin that made her feel both sick and hot all at once. She stayed stoically silent and straight faced. Though a dull throbbing began between her thighs. Memories of the night before, trickled into her thoughts. The heat. The passion. The need. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she wanted another round with him. The door opening behind her, drew her back from those thoughts. Loa, she noted, was a very large man. His white hair made him appear older than he likely was. His broad shoulders, square jaw and enormous hands, spoke volumes as to what that man could do...to an unwanted snooper. Her gut feeling said, this was man who had caused the unwanted trouble.
"Ah, Loa." Greed settled back in his large leather chair "I need to ask you, did we have any unwanted guests last night?"
"Yes. I took care of them." Loa was a man of few words.
"I see. Do we know the gate crasher?" With a soft thunk, Greed put his feet up in the desk.
"Yes. That pain in the ass cop." Loa replied, then a hint of a grin appeared "I sent him a crystal clear message boss."
"You call beating him up and torching his car a message?" Olivier snapped "I call that gross stupidity by an imbecile with less brain cells than an entire barrel full of Flatworms!"
"Easy now sweetheart." Greed placated "He's hired to be the muscle around here, not for his brains...or lack there of."
"Boss, if he'd just been sniffing around the club, I'd have just thrown his ass out." Loa stated, then visibly looked uncomfortable "But he was sniffing around back here. Spying on you...and the lady."
"I have a name, you buffoon!" Olivier barked angrily "And just what do you mean by 'spying' on us?"
"Well ma'am, you and the boss were..." Loa coughed, shifting his stance "...engaged in...in here and he was, spying from the room next door."
"Loa, how did you know he was here?" Greed asked, genuinely curious "Did you catch him before or after?"
"I caught him after boss. I was going back to put some takings in the safe, heard a noise from the next room over." Clearing his throat he continued "I waited outside the room door, I could hear someone sneaking around, then the door opened and I..."
"And you clocked him, right?" Greed finished the sentence, then just chuckled "Well there's your answer Olivier."
"Your behemoth here, ruffed up a cop. One who is connected to me via that damned inconvenient murder at my facility yesterday." Crossing her arms under her ample chest, she glared at Greed "Just how do you think this will look?"
"Well, there's no real connection between us, right?" Greed offered "After all one bout of steamy sex, doesn't constitute a firm link."
"It's enough of one to be concerned." That icy glare pinned Greed to his seat "We need a contingency plan. In case that cop turns out to be more Bloodhound, rather than the docile old dog he pretends to be.
"Look, I'm sure he will think twice about getting into our business again." Greed smirked, over confidence keen in those amethyst eyes "Loa here can be very persuasive."
"I doubt this will simply go away Greed." Olivier made for the door, looking over her shoulder once "Better watch your back."
"Thanks for the warning sweetheart..." Greed called after her "...but I don't have to concern myself that way."
Olivier headed out to the car, Miles still awaiting her. After settling into the car and Miles started out, she glanced in his direction. She was well aware of his infatuation with her. It worked to her advantage. He would do most anything for her. Doing a little digging, would be child's play to him. As he drove, she gave him the run down of what she wanted him to do, while she was at the office that day. His tasks included, making a trip to the hospital to find out the extent of the damage done by Greed's lackey. Then he was to check in with his informants, to see how much the police knew of the murder and her time with Greed at the club. And finally, he was to make sure to deliver a message to the old coot Clemin. If anyone – other than Greed – wanted to steal from her and murder a scientist, it would be him and his group of old farts. It seemed she was destined to be surrounded by idiots, morons and cowards her entire life. The mere thought, sickened her. Once at the office, she would be sure to lay the law down to her staff. No one, under any circumstances, was permitted to die on the premises.
Miles drove to the front of the building, did his chauffeur duties and watched Olivier head inside. Now it was his turn to shine. Time he could prove to her how useful he was. He needed her to recognize his need for her, his love for her. To see him as an equal, not as a servant. His first port of call was the hospital. He would then visit with his most trusted informant, Yoki, to get the word on the street. That man may have been a complete dimwit, but he had his ear to the ground and knew damn near every move that every person, animal or insect made. He also considered checking in with his kinsman. Scar, named solely for his war marred face, tended to run with the underground crowds. In the seediest of dives, where the ne'er-do-wells of society congregated. Of course, it gave Miles the perfect reason, to get a little female satisfaction also...since the girls in those places, were hot for it day and night. For the cost of a couple drinks. Yes, he would show Olivier how much she needed him. Would make sure she saw, that Greed was not worthy of her.
Failing to win the heart and soul of the woman he adored...was not an option. He would rather die, than live without her.